"I guess you're right there," commented Mr. Royce, his sides shaking with silent laughter. He had a way of laughing inwardly and without any apparent reason that was rather disconcerting till one was accustomed to it; it gave the impression that he was possessed of a peculiarly selfish sense of humour. He was an Englishman by birth, though for the last twenty years he had made his home in the States, where he had accumulated a great fortune and had become a recognised power in Wall Street. He had also gained some reputation as a traveller--an explorer upon scientific lines of little-known parts of the world--and he had but recently returned from an expedition of the sort, an expedition organised and financed by himself, which had, however, only partially achieved its object. "Armitage will punish the champagne before the day's through," he continued in a voice that was agreeably free from nasal twang. "Look at him now!" Captain Armitage had swung himself down from the coach and could be seen in interested converse with the butler, who had emerged from its interior. "He's a curious sort of fellow, is the captain. Had a big fortune once, but did it all in on the turf. Kind-hearted fellows like Rory still keep in with him for the sake of old times, and because of the girl, who's a character, too, in her way. They live in a tumble-down cottage near John Treves's training stables at Partinborough, in Cambridgeshire. It was there I first came across them, for I've a house of my own in the neighbourhood. The girl"--he nodded his head in the direction of Rada--"has a poor time of it, and just runs wild. Armitage brings her to London now and then and tries to make a dash, showing up at the big race meetings and putting on a swagger, although heaven alone knows in what wretched lodgings he hangs out! He spends most of the time at his club, and leaves Rada to look after herself. He manages somehow to keep a horse or two in training at Treves's, but he's a sponge, and that's why I warn you two young fellows about him." It was very clear that Anthony Royce had no liking for the bibulous captain: nor had Mostyn Clithero, even upon his shorter acquaintance, and that with good reason. Mostyn knew nothing about racing; he was a very innocent in all matters connected with the turf. Captain Armitage had made this discovery very early in the day--when the party had met at Sir Roderick's house in Eaton Square, in fact--and he had proceeded to amuse himself at the young man's expense, a fact of which Mostyn had subsequently become uneasily aware. There was one matter especially which weighed upon his mind, and now, feeling himself with friends, he proceeded to unburden himself. "I think," he said, "that Captain Armitage has been making fun of me. Is it true that Hipponous won the Waterloo Cup?"